


Winter’s Crest

by thejourneymaninn



Series: Change of season [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Lyriumchristmas, M/M, Party, Pining, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 04:29:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9055429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejourneymaninn/pseuds/thejourneymaninn
Summary: When Anders doesn’t show up for Diamondback, Fenris decides to finally confront him about the meaning behind his gift.
Sequel to 'Winter's Quiet', 'Winter's Dearest' and 'Winter's Grasp'.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the #lyriumchristmas campaign on tumblr. Prompt: 'Christmas Party'

Fenris’ mind was once again running in restless, fretful circles. Anders hadn’t shown up for Diamondback. The mage had never before missed one of their games, or their...nights. Of course, Hawke had needed him to accompany her on longer trips on a few occasions, but those weeks’ games had been cancelled anyway, as she had always taken Fenris along as well. When they had played, Anders had been there, every time, without fail. Until now.

Dismissing it as the mage simply being busy didn’t work; worry kept gnawing at Fenris’ mind, without mercy or pause. Had he been wrong to give Anders a gift in return? Was this the mage’s way of telling him he didn’t want it, didn’t want...him? Had Fenris said too much? Or not enough? Was he going to lose everything, even the comfort of Anders’ arms? He thought about visiting the mage, even contemplated faking an injury to make it less obvious that he just wanted to see him...But he felt even more paralysed than before, hope still whispering its deceitful promises into his ear, while fear assured him he would be crushed.

So he kept sitting in his mansion, which felt emptier than it ever had, and waited. In only two days, he would see Anders at the celebration of Merrill’s favourite Dalish holiday. Hawke had insisted they throw a party, despite the fact that the following week, they were going to have another one for Winter’s Crest, the last day of the season that was closer to the beginning of winter than that of spring, the longest darkness before the light would slowly begin to return. “We can honour both,” she had said in a tone that signified resistance was futile. “It means a lot to Merrill, and this is her home now, too.” So, only two more days. He could manage two days.

 

 

Thorns. There were thorny vines draped over every banister, wound around each column, and dangling from the chandelier. Apparently, they were supposed to remind you that the harsh times weren’t quite over yet. Fenris was fairly certain no one needed help remembering that, but he had to admit, the halla crafted from evergreens that covered nearly every surface looked pretty. As did the candles. If he had understood Merrill’s excited elaborations correctly (and since he had only actively listened for the first minute, there was a good chance he hadn’t) they symbolised hope and the persistence of nature. A nice thought, Fenris assumed, if you considered hope something worth celebrating. Which he decided he didn’t. Hope was a liar, and it was cruel.

Anders wasn’t there. Hawke had (probably not entirely) jokingly threatened them all with bodily harm if they hurt her lover’s feelings, and he still hadn’t shown up. It was....well, not exactly unlike him, but rather rude. So....actually very much like him. Yet no matter how many times Fenris reminded himself of that, it did nothing to stop him from worrying. Or from missing him, so much it became difficult to breathe. All his other friends were there, sitting in front of the fireplace, sharing food and drinks and jokes. Their voices sucked up the air around him, invading his thoughts and crawling beneath his skin. He was alone amidst their clamour, and the one voice he wanted to hear was nowhere to be found.

He had to see Anders. Even if this really was the mage’s way of telling him it - whatever _it_ had been - was over, Fenris had to at least know he was alright. Fate, it would seem, was just as cruel as hope. All those times he had mocked the mage for acting like the whole world was out to get him, and now here he was, a myriad of icy needles pricking his heart as he realized Anders might have been right. Templars. Darktown gangs. Justice. What if he had come to harm? No more stalling. Fenris had to see him, _now_.

He got up and made for the entrance hall without so much of a word of Goodbye, fully expecting Hawke to notice and try to stop him. And indeed, when he reached the door, she was right behind him. It didn’t matter; her admonishments would have to wait. Tomorrow, she could berate him all she liked. Tonight, her frown bounced right off him. He had to get to the mage.

“Where are you going Fenris? This is important to Merrill.”

“I…” he had intended to dismiss her, to hide behind a shield of attack, but somehow, he found himself telling her truth. A part of it, at least. “The mage is not here. I want to check if he is alright.” There was a short pause, yet the lecture he had expected never came. When she finally spoke, it was with a smile.

“Time to stop running and face the tiger?”

Why was he even surprised? Of course she knew. By now, he should have known better than to let her silence fool him. He cleared his throat and looked at the floor, giving just the tiniest of nods.

“That's the best excuse for skipping the party I can think of.” She was still smiling. “Off with you then. But don't you dare miss Winter's Crest.” She walked back towards the others, throwing a final grin over her shoulder. “And bring Anders.”

 

 

When he arrived at the clinic, the lantern was unlit, and there were no patients to be seen. Inside, it was quiet, with only a single, flickering candle battling the darkness at the far end of the room, where the mage had claimed a few square feet as his own space. A bed and a single chest filled with personal items, that was all it was, really. Anders had about as many things to his name as Fenris.

Anders. He was there, in that tiny corner of light, curled up on the bed, shivering even though his hair clung to his forehead, matted with sweat. Fenris thought he saw the shadow of a smile peeking through the exhaustion on his face when the mage noticed him, but it was hard to tell in the near-dark.

“Fenris.”

“I…came to see if you were alright. You missed the party. And…Diamondback.”

“I know; I’m sorry.” His voice sounded faint. “It seems winter finally caught up with me…I’ve been sick for days.”

“You are sick?” Alarmed, Fenris stepped closer. “How are you feeling? Is it serious? Is there another healer I can get for you?”

This time, he was sure there had been a smile, weak and brief, yet unmistakable. “No, there’s no point in getting a healer. I’m afraid this is one of the things you just have to let run its course. It’s nothing to worry about, though; half of Darktown has it. I’ll feel abysmally sick for about four more days, but it should pass on its own. I just need to rest. You shouldn’t come closer,” he added when Fenris made to sit on the bed. “It’s highly contagious. You’d better stay clear of me for a while.”

Foolish, trying steel himself for this moment, nothing could have prepared him for how much it hurt. But at least Anders was alright…or would be, soon. That was what truly mattered, why he had come here in the first place...And if he repeated it to himself often enough, perhaps he would one day believe it.

Fenris had little doubt his emotions showed, but there was nothing he could do to liberate his face from their claws. Crestfallen, he turned to leave and was almost out the door when he heard Anders croak behind him, “I’m not saying this because I don’t _want_ you near me. Not at all.”

With a curt nod, Fenris left the clinic.

 

 

“You came back,” the mage whispered when he returned a little over an hour later.

Fenris placed the broth, tea, and bread he had brought with him on the chest. “I went to the nearest tavern. You need to eat.”

“You came back,” Anders repeated, eyes wide and glossy, “and you brought me food.”

“Of course.” He forced himself not to look away, every single part of his body rigid with tension. “I am the one to stay at your side, am I not?”

What little colour his illness had spared drained from Anders’ face as he began to sputter, “Wha…what? You…I thought you didn’t…you know…how did you…?” Fenris could barely hear him over the pounding of his own heart.

“I wore your gift to Wicked Grace. The others told me. Did you believe they would keep quiet?”

There was a brief, endless pause.

“I...didn't think you would wear it outside your mansion right away. So I figured our friends wouldn’t get to see it until enough time had passed that no one would connect it to Winter’s Dearest anymore.” He kept his eyes down. “I’m sorry. To hear it from them...that must have made you so uncomfortable. I shouldn't have...but well, you _did_ wear it…”

“Of course. It is warm.” Quietly, he added, “And it was a gift from you.”

For a moment, Anders looked up at him, something flashing in his eyes. Then he went back to intently studying his blanket. “And I really wanted to you to have one. But I shouldn’t have given it to you on that day. Not without telling you what it meant.”

With a lot more calmness in his voice than he actually possessed, Fenris said, “Tell me now.”

“Didn’t our friends already take care of that?” Between his strained voice and nervous fidgeting, not much of the light-hearted tone Anders had most likely aimed for survived.

“They made assumptions. I want the truth. From you.”

The fidgeting increased. “I…guess that’s fair. But knowing our friends, they were probably spot on. It _was_ a gift for Winter’s Dearest, for my…special person. Because…I just…really like you, alright? No,” his voice suddenly became firm, causing Fenris’ stomach to clench in fear, ”that’s not enough.” Anders lifted his head and met his gaze, holding it as he continued. “I love you. And it’s not just about the physical things we’ve shared, it’s about everything you are...kind and smart and gentle and so many other things I refused to acknowledge for too long. When I’m with you, every time I see that shy little smile – you have no idea how you make me feel.” His voice remained firm even as he looked away again. “I don't expect anything from you, Fenris. That's why I didn't tell you; I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Well, alright, also because I'm a coward. But really, a Winter’s Dearest gift just means that the person you give it to is special to _you_. It doesn’t say anything about how they feel. There’s no obligation on the receiver’s part. We don’t ever have to mention it again, and it doesn’t have to be the end of…our nights. I’ll respect your boundaries, I promise, we can still…” His words were swallowed by a heavy cough.

Fenris bent down and kissed his forehead.

“Don’t, you'll get sick too,” Anders choked out as another fit took hold of him.

Fenris smoothed the damp hair out of his eyes, looking straight into them as he said, “If I do, I am certain the one at my side will take care of me.”

“The one at your side?” The coughing had subsided, the mage’s voice a rough, strained whisper.

“Did you not realize I gave you a gift?” He didn’t trust himself with the words Anders had used, not yet. He could only hope this would be enough to make him understand, to make him feel as weightless with joy as he had been feeling ever since the mage had said them.

Anders eyes widened. “You mean that was for…?”

“For Winter’s Dearest. For my...special one. I am aware that it came too late. But I hope it is still acceptable.”

“Maker Fenris, why didn’t you tell me?” There it was, the smile that set the mage’s face alight, that made him seem radiant and alive even at a time when he was too weak to sit up. And Fenris found himself smiling back, reduced to nothing but floating warmth now that he was certain Anders understood.

“Why didn’t _you_?”

“I think we have already firmly established that I am a coward,” the mage – he was _his_ mage, now, wasn’t he, and not just for a few stolen moments each week – winked at him, and it was the most adorable sight Fenris had ever seen.

“As it would seem, so am I.” He leaned in, trying to catch Anders’ lips with his own, but the mage pulled back, eyes wide again.

“You can't kiss me! You'll miss Winter’s Crest if you get sick _now._ As much as it pains me, we’ll have to postpone this until I’m not contagious anymore.” He gave him another wink, one that was decidedly _not_ …adorable…”I promise, I’ll make it…worth the wait.”

Fenris tried not to look disappointed. He didn’t mind that Anders was too weak to share his bed, but he really, really wanted to kiss him, now that he was finally allowed to do so on more than one day a week. Still, he nodded. He had waited this long; he could wait a little more.

“You said it would take four more days. I shall spend all of the fifth kissing you.”

“Well,” the mage grinned, “the fifth just happens to be Winter's Crest, and Hawke would kill me if I missed that party too. Are you sure you want to spend all day kissing me...at her house?”

“I shall do more than just kiss you. In every single room.” Fenris said, smirking when he saw Anders draw in a sharp breath. He fetched a chair from the mage’s desk and placed it next to his bed. “Until then, I shall watch over you. Is that acceptable?”

“Oh yes, it is. But only for a bit...you need to rest too.” Anders closed his eyes, his smile weary, yet warm.

He remained quiet for several minutes. Fenris had just decided he had probably fallen asleep when a timid question reached his ears.

“Fenris? Would you tell me a story?”

“I…would like to. But I am afraid I do not know any. Aside from the ones you told me.”

A small smile amidst more coughing. “Just make something up. Maybe…a story about an elf and a mage finding their happily ever after in a beautiful faraway town?”

“I can work with that.”


End file.
